


Amnesiac

by Eavenarah



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Breach, Pre-Relationship, its been sitting in my drafts for months lol, kind of?, pre-corypheus, the herald got amnesia boi!, they're in love already goddamn, this was supposed to be a part of a multi chap thing which may or may not have failed completely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 20:59:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenarah/pseuds/Eavenarah
Summary: The Herald can't seem to remember anything, yet, somehow, he feels it's his duty to save the world - a world he knows nothing about.





	Amnesiac

“I thought I might find you here,”  
The warm voice snaps Dmitri out of his work.  
The sounds of Haven celebrating are too loud for him, he's taken to sitting at his desk, hands over his ears, biting back tears. He sits, staring at the page in front of him, trying to remember, anything at all. But still, nothing.  
“You should be out celebrating, you know.”  
Dorian states, and Dmitri shakes his head, but gives no response.  
Dorian sits on his bed, holding a wine bottle and two glasses.  
“Nevertheless, I brought you a drink. Luckily for us, Flissa now trusts me enough to give me one of her only bottles of wine, though I doubt it's much good.”  
And Dmitri smiles, a genuine smile, and moves over to him.  
In the weeks since the Redcliffe incident, he’d found it hard to be around anyone but Dorian. Conversation with Varric and Sera was difficult, Dmitri found it hard to shake the image of two of his closest companions being infected and killed by the Lyrium.  
He’d been avoiding Leliana since they got back.  
And - he has to admit - he’s been growing fond of Dorian for weeks now. The little conversations they’d have in passing, drinking with each other in the days between excursions. They’d shared a tent together on the Storm Coast. Considering they’d only known each other for a matter of months, he felt closer to Dorian than he did to any of his other companions.  
Which is perhaps why he feels most guilty about the things Dorian had experienced since joining the Inquisition.  
“Have you been to see Alexius yet? He’s in the cells.”  
It’s unrelated to anything, but Dmitri knows that Dorian hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind.  
The older man shakes his head, pouring each a glass of wine.  
Dmitri doesn’t push it further.  
He opens the book again, scanning the pages - a mixture of drawings and words in a language he hardly recognises. But one that he can read, no matter how forced it feels, no matter how mixed the words become.  
“What's that?”  
“My sketchbook, apparently. Leliana had it delivered this morning. They found it on me at the temple,” he pauses, gesturing to his table, “along with everything else.”  
“Any luck?”  
Another shake.  
“Did you draw those?”  
“I don't know, one would assume so, but somehow I don't seem the type for art.”  
Dorian chuckles, taking a sip of the drink, and scans the page.  
His brow furrows as he tries to read the text that was annotated under each drawing.  
“What language is this?”  
“And you moan at me for asking questions,” Dmitri grumbles.  
“The answer is probably going to be ‘I don't know’, Dorian.”  
“Yes, naturally, but can you read it?”  
Dmitri pauses, scanning the text.  
They’re just little things - notes about where the thing was drawn, or little poems or thoughts. The faces of the people on the pages aren’t familiar to him. The landscapes are a mystery. The only clue he has to any of it is the writing. It can’t be his native language, whatever it is, it’s as if he made a poor attempt to learn it. Which then begs the question - why would he write with it?  
“Barely.”  
And within a second, Dorian has stolen the book from him, and placed it on the floor.  
“No more work, come on. You just saved the world and you're mulling over this again.”  
“Can you blame me? At some point, sooner rather than later, I’d like to remember who I was so I can get back to doing that.”  
A silence settles between them, and Dmitri finishes his glass of wine, and falls back against the wall.  
“It’ll never be the same, you know.”  
The blond nods slowly, “I know.”  
His eyes close, a tear escaping them, and Dorian wraps an arm around his shoulder.  
“It's so frustrating, Dorian. I don't know what I've left behind. What if I had kids? Or a husband, or wife that I've just… abandoned? What if Dmitri isn’t even my name?”  
His head is in his hands now, as a silent sob runs through his body, “What if I'm an entirely different person now? What if being exposed to the Fade changed me?”  
Dorian pulls him close, letting him sob into his chest, “Now, amatus, no more ‘what ifs’. What's important for the moment is that you're here, you're the Herald, you just closed the damned hole in the sky, and you've lived to tell the tale.”  
There is a chuckle from Dmitri as he lifts his head, tears still falling, but a guilty smile forming on his lips.  
“You're right. Sorry for crying on you.”  
Dorian offers a small smile and wipes a tear from Dmitri’s cheek.  
“That’s quite alright.”  
It’s soft, reminds Dmitri of someone, not that he can remember who, but it’s a fond feeling, and he smiles back.


End file.
